


The Women in the Tower

by RobberBaroness



Series: Darkest Timeline [3]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22208368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobberBaroness/pseuds/RobberBaroness
Summary: The castle has become a prison for Guinevere and Ragnelle.
Series: Darkest Timeline [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598476
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	The Women in the Tower

**Author's Note:**

> "This gentle lady lived with Gawain  
> But five years. I tell you truly,  
> That grieved Gawain all his life."  
> -The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle

“We’re prisoners, aren’t we?” Guinevere said it matter-of-factly to Ragnelle, as if the situation wasn’t a nightmare she had been trying to deny the reality of for some time. She had thought the first days without Arthur would be the worst, but she had been wrong. Loneliness was simple. Loneliness was safe. Loneliness was not the same thing as terror.

“It would seem so, Your Majesty, though Mordred swears otherwise. They’ve certainly found excuses to deny me every time I’ve tried to leave.” Ragnelle had never been one of Guinevere’s ladies in waiting- neither had warmed to the other after Guinevere’s admittedly rude reaction to Gawain’s new bride on her wedding day- but a week or so of confinement within a tower will do wonders for developing a friendship. Guinevere supposed it was because the two of them were the most politically important, but even looking out the window, she hadn’t seen many people leaving these days.

She’d seen plenty of people coming in, though. Strange knights with strange heraldry.

“The other Orkney wives...do you think they let them go?”

“I really don’t know, Your Majesty. But Lynette has escaped imprisonment within a castle once before, and I imagine she could do it again.” Ragnelle sighed. “I hope so.”

Guinevere thought of them- brash Lynette, sweet Lyonors, shy Laurel. Lyonors had been her favorite lady in waiting, Lynnette her favorite verbal sparring partner when Arthur or Kay were not available for a good argument, and Laurel had been like an affectionate little sister.

“Do they blame me, Ragnelle? For their husbands?”

“I’m sure they do not, Your Majesty.”

“The truth, Ragnelle. Tell me the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth. They all take their cue from Lynette, and she’s hated Lancelot since he refused to rescue Lyonors from the Red Knight in favor of letting an untested kitchen boy take a try at it. This whole terrible affair has allowed her to hate him openly.” Ragnelle looked away. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, for speaking so lightly.”

“Do not apologize. I asked you for the truth. And I am glad to think they do not hate me after all. I’ve often wondered which of us suffered more greatly- I, at least, did not lose my husband.” She would not mention Mordred’s claims that Arthur was dead. She would not dignify them. She still kept the letter from Arthur hidden on her person at all times, to remind her that it had been a lie.

“There is no way to compare suffering. I would not wish you to torment yourself by doing so.” Ragnelle looked out the window. “Bastards,” she growled. “I only recognize half of them, and those are all the bastards. If they really thought Arthur was dead, they would be flocking to the side of my husband as the new king. Some of these knights have been waiting years for the chance to find themselves a more relaxed sort of ruler, one who would allow them to sack the countryside and pretend to possess rights towards the peasant girls that are written in no known lawbook. Filthy traitors.” Ragnelle picked up a bit of embroidery- a rose encircling a briar in a lover’s knot. “When Gawain returns, he’ll kill them all.”

“He probably will,” Guinevere said honestly. If he returns, she did not add. “Ragnelle, when you lived in the forest...were you ever afraid?”

“Of animals, certainly. There are all sorts of dreadful wild beasts twice the size of a bent old woman. But not of men. They all thought I was a witch or an ogress and would run screaming. Humiliating, but it had its benefits.” She turned back to the window. “I almost wish they’d attack, or throw us in the dungeon. I hate waiting to see what they’ll do.”

“I suppose they hold you for ransom or as a political hostage-”

“Don’t be so sure,” came the reply. “There might not be as much promotion in marrying the Princess of Orkney as in marrying the Queen of the Britons, but he still might try to sell me off to one of his allies. I swear, if anyone tries, I’ll smother them in their sleep.”

“It wasn’t so very long ago,” said Guinevere quietly, “that this all would have been impossible. When Arthur had beaten back Rome itself, and none would dare challenge his rule. When it was safe to walk the streets at night, and unthinkable that a queen and a princess could be held against their will in Camelot of all places. When the knights swore to protect us.”

Knights like Lancelot. Her honored knight protector. Christ, it hurt to remember that time. It had seemed charming once to play at courtly love, to pout in a jealous fashion when he took a favor from some other pretty girl, to smile with affection when he wore hers. There were times when she wondered- but she could not let herself think such things. She would have acted differently if she’d known how serious he had been about it all, but it likely would have made no difference. Other women had their favorite knights, and nothing ill ever came of it to them.

She was the queen, however meaningless that title was under Mordred’s regency. She had to maintain her dignity, and that meant not berating herself as if she were the guilty party. When she’d been abducted by Maleagant, there had been a knight to come and save her. There was no one now, no one except Arthur who might still be at war (not dead, never dead, a man like that could not die, and besides she had his letter), and her dignity was all she had left to her.

But how she wished she could be seen to cry. Dignity was a heavy burden.

“You know Mordred proposed marriage, the night he told me those horrible lies,” Guinevere said. “But he has to pretend to respect my mourning period, just as I must pretend to mourn for a husband who is still alive.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It was clever of you to invoke that.”

“Was it? How long will it last before he decides the mourning period is over? What will I do then? How can it happen again and again that I trust the wrong man, only to find that he’s- that he means to- that he means me harm? I thought I could trust the man who swore to protect me, I thought I could trust the man who held and comforted me when the first turned upon me. Am I a fool?”

“You are not a fool. They are villains. There is a difference.”

Guinevere thought about Mordred, about the sad, insincere smile he’d had when he promised to allow her to take all the time she needed. “If I must marry him, perhaps I could see to your release-

“Don’t even think of it,” said Ragnelle, still studying the knights in the courtyard below. “Don’t trust that whelp with anything-” Ragnelle cut off her rant suddenly, her embroidery dropping to the floor. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

“Ragnelle? What is it? You must tell me!”

“That knight approaching the tower. I know that coat of arms,” Ragnelle said. “No, it can’t be. He wasn’t even a knight of Camelot!”

“Ragnelle, please-”

“He was Gawain’s enemy. I’ve lost track of the times they nearly killed each other. No, no. Oh god, I must be dreaming.” There were no tears on Ragnelle’s face, but her skin was pale as a ghost. “I was right. Mordred sold me to one of his allies. And I know who he sold me to.” Ragnelle laughed a short, barking laugh, then seemed to shake herself out of her state and return to the firm woman Guinevere knew.

“Your Majesty, you are not safe here. None of us are safe, not even Mordred’s own brother’s wives. You have to hide.” Ragnelle upened her basket of embroidery supplies, finding a small pair of sewing scissors. From far away, Guinevere thought she could hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

“Hide!” Ragnelle repeated. “Under the bed, in the closet, anywhere. It won’t keep them off forever, but they’ll be distracted with me and perhaps you’ll be able to make a run for the door before they realize. Anything is worth a try.”

“Ragnelle, who is it on the stairs? It cannot be an enemy king.”

“No, just a jumped-up robber knight. Calls himself Sans Pitie. Isn’t even French, the pretentious fool.”

She raised the sewing scissors in the same stance as she would a dagger.

“I will be your knight, Queen Guinevere. I will fight him, and I will most likely not live long enough to escape with you. But by god, I’ll take that fiend with me!”


End file.
